“I know you’re upset. It’s natural you’re upset. But I’m here for you, Ivy.”
At that, I laugh outright. “You’re here for me? Did you just really say that?”
I walk farther away as he begins to close the space between us. Marco comes around the corner, and without taking his eyes off me, Santiago signals to Marco to stand back.
“Were you the complication the doctors didn’t see coming, Santiago?”
He smiles a strange smile, but it’s gone in an instant. “I can see how you’d think that,” he says through clenched teeth. “But no, Ivy, I did not murder the old man.”
“But it was your right. Isn’t that what you told me?” I take more steps away, aware of how close Marco is. “Did you use your knife? It would be symbolic to drive the De La Rosa blade into his heart. It would make your father proud.”
“That’s enough.” His voice is harder. “Give me the knife.”
“Is this why you forgave me so easily a few days ago? You knew even then what you’d do. You thought you could use that against me? Force me to forgive you? To somehow maybe accept and forgive the fact that you murdered my father?”
He speaks, maybe asking for the knife again, but the fact of what he told me washes over me, and I can’t process his words. My father is gone. He’s dead.
“Tell me something. Tell me one thing,” I say.
“Anything.”
“Did he see it coming? Was he scared?” I feel tears stream down my face.
Something shifts in his expression, like a thing cracking, splintering. Just a little. “No. There was nothing to see coming. His heart gave out. It was all just too much for him. Now give me the knife.”
I look beyond Santiago to the doctor. They’re all closer. And in his hand, the doctor is holding a syringe.
They’ve come prepared.
“Please give me the knife,” Santiago pleads, and I turn to him again. He’s only a few feet away now. He’s fast. I know that. He will lunge for the knife any second now. The only reason he’s not is he’s afraid I’ll hurt myself. He’s not afraid for himself. Not afraid I’ll hurt him. I know that.
But he’s wrong.
And before any of them can get to me, I fly at him, arm raised, my scream a proclamation of my hate for him. For this man I thought I loved. For this man who has only ever lied to me. Only ever manipulated me. Used me. And who has now taken my father from me.
It’s that last thing that saves him. That final thought. Because I know he’d stand there and take it otherwise. And when I bring the knife down, it’s half-hearted because I am already defeated.
He grabs it by the sharp, serrated edge. It breaks skin, but he doesn’t cry out. He barely flinches. I am not as strong as him nor am I as capable of violence. Not even against him. Not even now. And moments later, he’s holding me as I sob, trapping my arms at my sides as he hugs me tight, my face pressed into the crook of his neck, the blood from his hand warm against my cheek as he cups my face, the needle barely noticeable when the doctor pricks my arm, a whispered apology on his lips as Santiago lifts me up when my knees give out, and I look up at him as my head lolls to the side.
“I hate you,” I tell him, my arm not doing what my brain is telling it, my fingers not curling into claws, my hand only slapping weakly at his chest. “I hate you,” I manage, my words slurring together as darkness creeps in, dulling the corners of my vision. “And I will never forgive you. Never.”
26
Santiago
"Boss?"
Something pokes me in the arm, stirring me. When I lift my bleary eyes, I realize I must have fallen asleep in the hall outside the bedroom door.
"What is it, Marco?" I force my aching muscles to cooperate as I rise to my feet.
"Have you been sleeping out here all night?" he asks.
I give him a stiff nod. It's not like him to ask such personal questions.
"I have some updates," he tells me. "Do you want to talk here or in your office?"
"Let's go downstairs." I pause to look at the door one more time, hesitant to leave, but aware Ivy doesn't want me anywhere near her right now either.
Marco has been aware of my struggle. The entire manor has. The past few days have been interspersed with silence and Ivy's rage whenever I try to speak with her. And I'd be lying if I said I haven’t second-guessed my decision every step of the way.
I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to hurt any of Eli's daughters anymore, but right now, they are all suffering over the choice I made. And I can't even be sure it was necessary or worthwhile, since there have been no signs of Abel yet.
"You're doing the right thing." Marco reaches out, settling his hand on my shoulder. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but this was the only way. He won’t come out until he’s dead sure this is real."
I wish I could be as certain as he sounds.
"Come." He jerks his chin in the direction of the stairs. "I think you will feel better when you hear what I have to say."
This news captures my interest, and without any alternative, I follow him down to my study. We step inside and close the door, and he waits until I'm settled into my chair before he removes his phone and hands it to me.
"One of my guys found someone lurking around the property. He was near the western perimeter."
I study the image of the man on Marco's screen, but he isn't someone I recognize.
"Any idea who he is?" I ask.
"From what I've been able to gather, he's a low-level criminal. There's nothing much of importance about him other than a rap sheet a mile long. Petty crimes, mostly. I already beat the shit out of him, and he gave it up pretty quickly that he was working for Abel. Said he was supposed to keep an eye on the place."
"And what exactly was he supposed to report back?" I ask.
"His orders were to look for Eli or any sightings of his daughters. There were even photos on his phone. He said Abel wanted pictures of Ivy or Eva. He wanted to see if they were distraught."
Marco is giving me the confirmation that I was right. Abel is paranoid enough to need confirmation that Ivy and Eva’s grief is real. It should bring me relief, but there is none to be found. My wife is still upstairs, lost to her anguish, and I don't know how much longer I can bear it.
"He also said he was supposed to attend the funeral tomorrow,” Marco continues. “He mentioned Abel had a few guys who would be in attendance, but he didn't know any of their names. They'll be reporting back to Abel, whoever they are."
I dip my head, rubbing my temples as tension clings to every muscle in my body. "I don't know if I can go through with it, Marco. I don't know if I can watch her suffer any longer—"
He lowers himself into the chair across from mine, resting his palms on my desk. "It's one more day, Santiago. Just one more day. Abel will get the confirmation that his entire family is in mourning. And then you can tell her, just as soon as we're back at The Manor."
"And what if he doesn't do what we are anticipating?" I ask. "What if he doesn't come out of hiding? His paranoia is too strong."